Serendipity
by Her Violet Violence
Summary: A story in which Death is only the beginning and a god's desire can change the course of history.
1. Prologue

Prologue

"We're all Adam's children, but silk makes the difference" -Thomas Fuller, 1654 - 1734

Death reminds us how fragile we are. It frightens those who quake at the thought of the End. Others find comfort in the theory that Death frees us to join our brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers in Ultimate Happiness. And still some claim Death is merely an idea. We never die but go on to live another life. But every belief is based on the same knowledge: Death changes. We are no longer what we once were; we become something entirely different. What that is, we do not know. Lack of knowledge is most frightening.

The truth is Death is precisely what we think It is. Some do meet their End in Death eternally, others will move on to find Happiness, and still some will never know either of these. They will arise again whether in the future, present, or past for a desire, want, or need whether their own or another's was strong enough to set them apart from the rest. A difference as thin as a strand of silk keeps them from knowing both their End and Happiness.


	2. Chapter 1 Butterflies and Hurricanes

I hope this story will be different from any other you've previously encountered. That is all I have to say. :

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Chapter 1  
Butterflies and Hurricanes

She was cold.

Her breath was warm and moist against the frigid air. It escaped her lips and joined the cold. The sound of her boots hitting the snow echoed a mile's radius in sharp contrast to the silence of falling white. A union of opposites surrounded her, leaving a melancholy feeling lingering there. It seeped into her pores and steadily replaced the frustration circulating through her being. Her passion had blinded her, and it was then that she truly witnessed the scene unfolding around her. A quiet night filled with countless parallels. Perhaps she might have found peace then had she not spotted her car, reminding her of present position.

"I hate him," She announced for the umpteenth time. With each repetition, however, the object was forgotten. Her hatred was all that remained.

'_I hate_.'

The emotion ruled her thoughts while some unknown force controlled her limbs. She would not remember how comforting the dead weight of the brick felt nor how stealthily she crept toward her prey. The sound of shattering glass was a chorus of angels rejoicing within her ears, but she remembered then how to fear and was suddenly drowning in the feeling. This drove her to dash to her car, thrust herself within, and escape all her hate and fear. They were her true enemies.

Her body, mentally and physically, was too tired to feel. She grasped some odd amount of peace in the numbness and the clarity with which her mind processed nothing. Everything became simple. "It doesn't matter," She decided then. "You'll forget this one day. The sooner that day comes, the better."

She did not pass or catch sight of any other car in motion as she continued on her way home. This was understandable considering the late hour. She shouldn't be awake. He shouldn't- Her thoughts were interrupted when her tires met ice, and the lack of friction caused the car to spin several times. Fear spread like wildfire through her veins, and the sound of her scream never met her ears. The front corner of the car came in contact with the railing of the bridge first but did not break through. Instead the back end of the car swung around and met the railing, crushing inward. She had forgotten her seatbelt in the rushed course of her escape and was thus thrown into the passengers' side. The side of her head hit the window, but she felt nothing. Her tunnel of vision ceased abruptly.

Darkness bathed her, enveloped her, swallowed her whole. She felt It without truly feeling. It was vast and immeasurable, but she did not comprehend this. She couldn't because she was Nothing.

'_It doesn't matter_.'


	3. Chapter 2 Divine Intervention

In case you were wondering, I haven't forgotten my character's name. I simply haven't chosen to reveal it yet.

I would also like to say that this is my fanfic obviously. If you don't like it, stop reading it. If you want to flame me, please for the love of anything place some constructive criticism in it. Face it: if you review saying you hate my fic, I'm a terrible writer, my character is a Mary-Sue, I should be shot because I'm going to change the story (which reminds me of another point) then congratulations you have managed to waste your time, lower my self-esteem, piss me off, and offer me no way to remedy the situation.

Now for the point previously mentioned: I love Troy as much as the next person or perhaps even a little bit more to be compelled to write this fic. I do not claim, however, to be an expert on Greek/Trojan history. Naturally I've done my research, but I can't find every answer to every question I have. Consequently, there will be times where I 'wing it.' I will attempt to make it plausible, but I can't promise it will be correct.

Also, I'd like to again remind you that this is my fanfic. Frankly, what I choose to write does not have to follow the history we currently know. I could have Achilles and Helen fall in love, have Hector betray Troy, give Astyanax magical powers, give Priam some sweet dance moves, make Andromache and Briseis lesbians, and have Paris be a bad-ass warrior king if I so desired. (I promise none of the above will happen in my story). Yes, I am bringing an OC into the fic as the main character. Many of you think this automatically makes her a Mary-Sue. My definition of a Mary-Sue is a female character that is perfect. That I hope should cover all bases.

I also feel the need to point out that yes; my character does not belong in Troy. That's kind of the point. If that managed to go over your head, then I suggest you lower your reading level because I believe I made it quite obvious. If you don't like stories where an OC that does not belong in Troy is brought to Troy to try and save Troy, I suggest you quit reading. You have been warned and thus continue at the risk of torturing yourself. If you choose to review complaining of how much you hate stories where an OC is brought to Troy to try and save Troy, I'll probably ignore you and delete your review. In my opinion that's like going to a chicken farm and complaining about all the chickens around you.

Now forget everything I just said for the time being and enjoy!

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Chapter 2 

Divine Intervention or Divine Revelation

The stench which met her nostrils was enough to awaken her from her slumber while simultaneously causing her to feel an extreme amount of repugnance. The sight waiting to meet her green eyes was not one she could admit to being familiar with. In fact it resembled nothing she'd ever seen before. "Where am I, and _what_ is that god-awful smell?" She asked aloud as she raised one hand to pinch the bridge of her nose and the other to fan away the stench.

"You're in the dungeons."

Despite the obvious fact that she had spoken aloud, she certainly hadn't been expecting to be answered. This of course was the reasoning behind her shrill scream and also why she quite literally threw herself against the nearest wall to stare fearfully at the man who had answered her. But similar to her surroundings, he was like no man she had ever encountered. He was beautiful. That was what she noticed first. His hair appeared to be strands of golden silk falling in perfect curls down to his shoulders. His azure eyes were the color of the sky on a spring morning and glittering with amusement as they stared down on her form. The structure of his face was somehow both beautiful and rugged, and the tan skin stretched over the lean muscle of his body appeared to glow radiantly as a star or the sun would. There was no doubt in her mind that he was not of this world. "As for the smell," he continued while noticing and enjoying the awe in her eyes, "I doubt you would care to know."

After she became as accustomed to his powerful presence as she felt she would -which needless to say required countless minutes, she inquired curiously, "Who are you?"

"Apollo," He replied without a moment's hesitation. The name filled the room, swelling up proudly, before winding its way around its owner's form. She saw it presented on the angle of his jaw, the line of his brow, the muscular hills of his body. It was him.

Logic, however, would not allow her to believe so easily. 'His god-like appearance and godly name could be coincidence,' it assured her. "Apollo," she repeated, a small, suspicious crease forming upon her brow. "Apollo as in . . . the Greek god Apollo?"

His bemused smile morphed into an arrogant smirk. "The only."

A crude, incredulous smile played upon her lips. "That's impossible. He doesn't exist." The words were more for her benefit than his in reality. She needed to be assured whether by herself or another that she was hallucinating and not speaking with a god she knew only in ancient stories.

Her words removed the smirk from his attractive face immediately. A grave, stern expression appeared on his countenance then, and she instantly dreaded the extremity of what she might hear next. "Claire," He began but by merely speaking her name which she was sure she had not given him prior to this, he had convinced her, "this is no form of trickery. Neither is it a dream from Morpheus. You have recently been involved in a tragic event. I understand you may still be suffering the effects of this, but you have not the time to waste grieving. If you do, you will forfeit your chance-"

Claire interrupted him the second her ability to speak returned. Her words came rushing out in a deluge of desperation, "I-I don't understand. What are you talking about? Tragedy? What am I suffering from? What is going on? Why am I here? Where am I? Who are you really? Tell me what's going on-"

"Silence." The word shut her up instantly, but in her eyes there was evidence of her panic still. "Claire," His voice was controlled, calm, steady and commanding, "you died in a car accident." Tears crept up to pulse behind her eyes at the statement for she had been dreading any word spoken of the incident. "You are in Troy. The gods brought you here so that we might find vengeance. The Greeks have insulted us, and their blasphemy cannot go unpunished. They must not win this war. You, child, will aid the Trojans. If you succeed, you will have another chance at life, but if you fail, you will be lost in eternity."

"But how?" She inquired the moment his lips ceased movement. "How will I get Troy to win?" Her throbbing tears faded as confusion and fear melded within her, and the leaden weight of responsibility was placed upon her narrow shoulders.

His peach lips briefly pressed together to form a thin line and then opened to speak. "Troy cannot be victorious without its general."

She nodded her understanding though the information was still slowly being processed. After a second's hesitation she questioned, "Why me?"

A flicker of mischief danced in his eyes, and he purposely avoided the answer. "The Greeks landed on the beach of Troy this afternoon. You are in the dungeons because they suspect you to be a spy for the Greeks. You will be questioned by Hector. You can speak and understand their language. It might prove useful to remove yourself from the dungeons and gain the king's ear."

The scrape of a door opening distracted her, and her attention along with her gaze was drawn to voices and footsteps nearby. When she turned to ask Apollo how he expected her to leave the dungeons, she found herself alone. Her green eyes darted about the cell for any sign of his departure, but she found none.

"You, girl," A guard spoke sharply as his accomplice opened the door to her cell, "Prince Hector has summoned you." Claire hesitated there on the floor of the cell with her back against the wall as she marveled at how she understood this ancient language he spoke. "Be swift about it," He chided impatiently. As far as first impressions were concerned, he didn't appear to be the most affable of fellows she noted, but Claire was hardly in any position to say something regarding his rude behavior. Therefore, she wordlessly pushed herself to her feet and approached them warily. "The Prince is waiting." The guard reached out and roughly took her forearm, extracting her from the cell. She tore her arm from his grasp at the first opportunity she received and shot him an icy glare. Being a rude, impatient git was one thing but touching her was another matter entirely. "Go on then," He said, pushing her lightly in the direction of his comrade.

Unable to hold her tongue any longer, she snapped, "Patience is a virtue." She then proceeded to follow the guard whose silence she was beginning to consider a blessing. At the thought, she lifted her eyes toward the sky and prayed her thanks to Apollo. They led her out of the dungeons and into the palace's grand corridors where the solider grasped her arm yet again. She struggled briefly with him in a poor attempt to free herself but his grip was firm.

"Don't think you'll be able to escape," He warned her.

"Right and where would I run if I did?" She asked sarcastically, meaning it to be rhetorical.

The guard, however, felt the need to answer her. "Back to the Greeks."

She rolled her eyes in their sockets, fast becoming frustrated with him. "Even if I was from Greece, how would I get back? Swim?"

Simultaneously as the guard opened his mouth to voice his retort, the mute one opened the doors to their destination. Claire was escorted inside courtesy of the git of a guard, and she understood then why he had been so over-bearing. The manner in which he entered the room was how he assumed a soldier would enter she imagined, noticing how his chest puffed out and his face visibly hardened. It was Hector's approval he sought if she had to guess.

They brought her before a wooden table upon which a vast map had been laid. She inspected it momentarily but did not recognize the area at a glance. She was too distracted to examine the map any closer for behind the table stood a man whom she presumed to be Hector. His head was a mess of thick mahogany curls, and his eyes which peered up at her then were dark and without apparent contrast between the pupil and iris from what Claire could tell. Upon his jaw was a beard and lying above the grain she noticed a small scar on his right cheek. Undoubtedly he had an array of scars riddled over his persons, and his appearance spoke one word to her despite the absence of his armor: soldier.

"You can let go of me now," She said to the guard beside her without bothering to turn her head.

Hector's gaze traveled from Claire to the guard to whom he gave a barely noticeable nod. The guard released her arm at once. "Your name, girl," Hector requested as he straightened from where he had been previously bent over the table.

Claire rubbed her arm where the guard's hand once was absently. "Claire," She replied softly, growing slightly nervous under his gaze. His mere presence commanded attention and a degree of respect. His eyes were intense, and Claire dared not meet them.

"You're a foreigner, are you?" He asked to which she nodded. She wasn't certain how she managed to overlook it earlier, but it was then that she realized she was wearing the same clothes she had worn that fateful night (minus her jacket and purse whose absences she couldn't explain). There was no question in her mind as to why they were so suspicious of her. She must look like an alien to them. "Where do you hail from?"

She hesitated, considering the possible answers. It was obvious to her that replying with the truth would be pointless. "Nowhere," She managed to say.

To her mild surprise, he did not pry and instead continued with his questioning though surely her answer or lack of had been noted. "What business do you have in Troy?"

Yet again she found herself torn between the truth and the lie. They would likely throw her in the dungeons again if she were to tell them the truth that she died and somehow ended up there by the gods' power to save Troy from the Greeks. "I'm a prophet," She tried cautiously, fearing the silence might cause suspicion if she allowed it to linger for too long. She glanced up in time to see Hector's eyes narrow somewhat. "A great war will be fought here. A thousand Greek ships sit on Troy's shore ready for battle." She paused to collect her thoughts momentarily before continuing, "The gods -Apollo especially- are concerned for Troy. The Greeks will burn Troy to the ground if you aren't careful. Apollo has sent me to help Troy win."

Hector grew quiet, and Claire lifted her gaze from her feet to his face. He was no longer looking at her but rather down at the map again. However, if Claire were to guess, she would say he was not truly seeing the map. Certainly he was deep in thought. Hector did not waste time though, and his dark orbs fixed her in their sights again, considering her briefly. "Why would the gods choose you to send?" He asked.

Claire bowed her head to the floor self-consciously. "I asked Apollo that myself. He wouldn't answer me." She paused and wrung her hands nervously. "The gods work in mysterious ways," She suggested, timidly raising her eyes.

Silence filled the room for the second time, but it was ended within seconds. "If you are what you claim to be, then you would be a great ally to Troy." He nodded to show his certainty of this. "But I require proof before I trust you."

Claire hadn't expected it though she suspected now that perhaps she should have. "What proof do you need?" She asked.

"A sign from the gods," He answered simply after which he dismissed her with a nod of his head. Claire found her arm held captive in the guard's grasp. Before she was escorted out of the room and returned to her place in the dungeons, she glanced behind her at Hector only to see him engrossed in the map yet again.

Apollo was waiting for her return, reclining against the back wall with his tanned arms crossed over his chest. "Back so soon?" He asked with a curious smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

Claire's appearance was rather heart-rending as the guard shoved her into the dungeon. An observation distracted her though from her own self pity, and she turned to see the guard peering in at her as he closed the door. Did he not see Apollo standing there? She returned her gaze to Apollo who was still present. "I must be crazy," She decided for it appeared to her to be the only plausible reason behind the guard's blindness.

Apollo chuckled lightly and gestured for her to sit with an elegant wave of his hand. "Tell me," He commanded, "what was said between the eldest prince of Troy and yourself."

Claire reluctantly took a seat on the floor of the dungeon which she was beginning to suspect was never cleaned and crossed her legs Indian style before beginning to recount what happened. "He wanted to know what my name was. I told him Claire. He asked where I was from, and I said 'nowhere.' I couldn't tell him the truth though." She peered up at Apollo apologetically in case he found that to be a mistake. He waved her on. "Then . . . Then he asked me what I was doing in Troy. I told him I was a prophet. That you had sent me to help Troy win." She paused again and gave Apollo a questioning look as though to ask whether or not she had answered correctly.

"Continue," He rejoined to her inquiring gaze.

She sighed. She didn't quite care to tell him the next part though she knew she must. For a reason that avoided her, she dreaded telling him of Hector's request. "He said he needs a sign from the gods before he believes me."

"I expected as much," The god admitted, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Hector has always been skeptical." Apollo's answer confused Claire for she had thought Hector was asking a great deal of the god and herself. Apparently, however, this was small feat for the sun god. It did not take him long to form a solution. "Tell Hector to return here once he has finished speaking with his father."

Claire nodded her understanding though she wondered aloud, "What will we do when he gets here?" Her question fell flatly to the deaf ears of the walls as she abruptly realized Apollo had disappeared. Similar to the previous time, she inspected her surroundings, searching for any clues to either his arrival or disappearance, and as she had earlier, she found no sign that the god had been present. She remained considerably dumbfounded for some countless minutes before placing Apollo's plan into action.

She approached the door to her cell while she pondered how to relay the message to Hector. Obviously she couldn't break herself free and run to deliver it to him, but neither was she sure at that moment how else to get it to him. She'd need a messenger of sorts, and before the idea even finished its course through her brain she was shouting "Guards!" as loud as she could. She placed her palms on the door and shook it. She was rewarded with the sound of its movement echoing off the walls. "Guards!" Again she shook the door, pushing her weight against it in an attempt to increase the volume of noise. "Guards!"

At length a voice answered her. "What is this ruckus about?"

"I need to speak to Hector," She stated.

There was a break of silence before, "The Prince is occupied."

"Tell him then that Apollo has spoken to me, and that Prince Hector should come see me after he's done talking to his father." Again there was a silent moment. Then Claire heard the shuffling of the guard's footsteps as he left.

Without a confirmation that the guard would do her bidding, she found a nervous hand had gripped her insides. She paced the floor of the dungeon, wringing her hands in front of her, and considering every possible situation she could imagine. If this were to fail, would they cease humoring her? Would they decide she was loony? No, they wouldn't fail. Apollo wouldn't let that happen. Didn't he have that power? She began then to recite all the names of the gods and goddesses with their powers from what she could recall of her school days spent studying The Odyssey.

"Apollo, god of the sun. Artemis, goddess of the moon. Athena, goddess of wisdom. Zeus, god of . . . thunder?" She paused mid-stride as she wondered. "Lightning? Power?" Then carefully she tried, "Zeus, god of the gods." Pleased with how it sounded, she continued. "Hades, god of the Underworld. Persephone, Hades' wife. I don't think she has a power." She itched her head thoughtfully as she tried to remember if Persephone did have a power. Upon deciding she didn't, she proceeded to name Persephone's mother. "Demeter, goddess of the earth or was it wheat? Wait… Demeter, goddess of..." It was on the tip of her tongue, and Claire struggled mentally with herself to finally say, "harvest! Ok, Demeter, goddess of harvest. Uh… Poseidon, god of the sea." Sadly, after that she found herself without anymore gods to name though she did not cease searching her brain. "There was a god of wind. I think his name started with an 'a.' Hm . . . Circe! Circe was the witch goddess. Then there was another goddess who made Odysseus stay with her. I want to say K . . . Ka-Kaleidoscope." She stopped pacing long enough to frown and mentally hit herself. "No . . . K-Ka-Kali? Kaly?"

"Calypso?"

Claire jumped at the voice of another and turned on her heel to see Apollo had returned. "Thank you," She said, removing her hand from where it had been placed over her racing heart. "Do you always do that?" She asked.

"You have greater matters to trouble yourself with." Apollo's face was serious, and Claire found herself listening very intently to what he had to say. "Hector approaches."

"Oh shit," She cursed then promptly placed a hand over her mouth. Was it polite to curse in front of the gods? "I'm sorry," She apologized around her hand for safe measure. "What are we going to do?" She asked once her hand had been removed from before her mouth.

"You are going to turn and greet the Prince when he arrives," Apollo rejoined as though it were the obvious.

"What about you?" Wasn't his participation key?

"Concentrate on what you will be doing," He advised, flicking his gaze upward as the scrape of the dungeon room's door opening sounded. Footsteps echoed off the walls to meet Apollo and Claire's waiting ears.

There, however, was silence until presumably a guard said, "Here, my lord." The door to Claire's cell was opened there after to reveal Hector and the two guards from before.

"How did you know…" Hector's voice trailed off as his gaze traveled past Claire to something directly behind her, and he knelt promptly, bowing low to the ground. "My lord, god Apollo." Claire glanced over her shoulder and saw Apollo standing there as he had been previously. 'Hector can see him?' She wondered. The guards on either side of Hector looked startled and confused but took their places, kneeling on the ground and bowing until their foreheads touched the stone. 'Do they see him too?'

"I do not usually appear to princes," Apollo spoke to Hector, "but the prophet, Claire, tells me you require a sign from the gods. Tell me, prince of Troy, does this satisfy you?" The god's mighty voice hinted annoyance perhaps giving Hector the impression that Apollo did not care to appear before him.

"Yes, my lord," Hector spoke to the ground, bowing even lower if it were possible.

"I expected that you would show the gods' chosen one better hospitality. It is an insult to the gods that you treat her so poorly." Apollo's voice was stern as though he were chiding a child. Hector had nearly flattened himself on the ground by now for rather than answering he had continued to bow until it appeared he was attempting to join with the stone floor beneath him. "I leave you with a warning from the gods, prince. Listen carefully to this girl or forfeit your city to the Greeks." Apollo disappeared as he always managed to, but Hector and the guards could not tell for their faces never left the ground during the course of this divine revelation.

Claire shifted from foot to foot, considering if she ought to say something. "He's gone," She finally told them.

Hector cautiously lifted his head and seeing that what Claire said was true, the rest of his body soon followed until he stood before her. The guards followed suit only after Hector had risen completely. "I apologize for doubting," Hector said, tilting his head to the floor as though to acknowledge his fault.

Claire found the action a little unnerving. She couldn't admit to having a prince apologize to her before. "It's alright," She assured him. "I probably would've done the same." She even added a soft smile.

"I'll take you to your quarters now," Hector suggested. There seemed to be a new respect present perhaps not for Claire herself but for what she stood for as a representative of the gods.

"That'd be nice," She commented and approached him. This time the guards appeared to place an almost reverent amount of distance between themselves and Claire. She had to admit she enjoyed that she could walk without being jostled by a guard, but the veneration they displayed seemed so out of place. It made her uncomfortable, and she was eager to be taken to her new room and left alone.

The room Claire was given was magnificent in size and grandeur. It was fit for a king. "These quarters are reserved for visiting ambassadors," Hector informed her as she walked past him to the middle of room, taking in her surroundings. "I think you fall into the category."

"It's beautiful," Claire said rather breathlessly. "Thank you." She turned to smile warmly at him, but the smile was not returned.

He merely nodded his head and prepared to take his leave. "Is there anything you need?" He inquired from his place in the doorway.

Claire shook her head, still in awe of her quarters. "No, I don't think so." A thought came to her almost immediately afterwards. "Wait." Hector had taken a step, but he returned to his previous position. "Is there any place around here where I could get a bath?"

"I'll send some servants to draw your bath." He hesitated before taking a step this time as though to make sure she wasn't going to ask anything else of him. The door closed gently behind him at the hand of one of the guards. Claire was left in silence, and she cautiously approached the bed which was quite possibly twice the size of her own. The comparison reminded her of the life she left, and she stood there fingering the sheets of an unfamiliar bed with tears threatening to fall over her bottom lid.

A hesitant knock on the door startled her out of her thoughts, and she struggled to control her quivering voice as she said, "Come in."

Behind the door were four female servants. "My lady," the one in front said, bowing along with the other three, before entering. "Prince Hector sent us to care for you."

"Oh," Claire said softly. "I wanted to take a bath actually," She trailed off, not quite sure how to address a servant.

Again they bowed. The three who had yet to speak hurried to an adjacent room while the other one stayed behind. "My lady, it will take time for the water to heat." Her head was kept at an angle and her eyes downcast to the floor the entire time she talked.

"I don't mind waiting," Claire assured her though in truth she was hoping that it would only take a few minutes.

"Is there anything else you require?" She asked.

Claire paused to consider it prior to speaking this time. "I could use some clothes."

The woman bowed while asking, "Shall I fetch you some?"

"Please do." The woman looked somewhat startled at Claire's reply, and she bowed lower, backing out of the door and closing it behind her.

Claire sighed and put the palms' of her hands up to her face. She removed them shortly after discovering they reeked of the dungeons. "This sucks," She murmured to herself. Her eyes caught sight of a mirror resting on a nearby table, and she approached it, peering at her reflection. She looked like she had been in a car wreck minus the cuts, bruises, and blood. Her hair was a tangled mess of auburn framing her countenance. The smoky eye shadow which had once surrounded her green eyes was smeared unceremoniously across her face. The blush was missing from her cheeks and the color from her lips leaving her skin ashen. Her clothes were dirty from the dungeons she assumed and reeked of something vile.

The servant returned then with what appeared to be a sheet in her hand. 'I'm not wearing a toga' was the first thought that came to Claire's mind, but the woman unfolded the material and held it up for Claire to see. It was a dress, Claire realized, dyed blue with gold trim. "Does this please you or would you have me fetch the robes the servants of Apollo wear?"

"No, it's gorgeous. Thank you." Claire reached out to touch the material but then remembered the stench of her hands and decided against it.

It was barely moments later that the other servants appeared to inform Claire her bath was ready. "Thank you," She said, smiling at them though they failed to see it for their heads were bowed. Claire hesitated, and the smile faded from her features. All the bowing the servants did made her uneasy. She advanced to the next room and proceeded to gape at the grand bathroom. It was nearly the size of the bedroom, and the bath itself took up half the space. Who would a need a bath that large short of a giant was beyond her though she certainly knew she didn't need it. That didn't mean, however, she refused to bathe in it -quite the contrary in fact. She noticed that the three servants had disappeared, but the one she had spoken most with had followed her into the bathroom only to stand there with her head and eyes downcast. Claire wondered why she did this and attempted to think of something to say that might dismiss her. "It's wonderful, thank you." The servant bowed but did not move to leave. "I don't need anything else," She added. Again the servant bowed. Claire was all out of ideas, and the woman had been so kind as to take care of her that Claire didn't want to bluntly tell her to leave. So very reluctantly, Claire undressed and hurried to get into the water. It was a bit cooler than she would normally care for, but she wasn't about to complain. The next thing Claire knew the servant had knelt on the floor behind her and was proceeding to scrub some kind of soap into Claire's scalp. She was apparently planning to bathe her, and Claire didn't quite know what to say. She couldn't say she would like to be bathed, but she had no idea at all how to tell the woman this. In the end, Claire didn't say anything at all and was given a thorough bath by a complete stranger.

The woman stood, grasped a linen towel, and opened it, appearing ready to dry Claire off now. Claire couldn't stay quiet any longer, and she stood out of the bath with an arm placed modestly across her chest enough to grasp the towel with her free hand. "I can dry myself off," She told the servant who as usual bowed in reply. The woman gathered Claire's old, dirty clothes from the floor and left the room with them in her arms. Once Claire was positive the servant had left for the time being, she ventured out of the bath and dried herself as quickly as she could before wrapping the towel around herself and cautiously peering out into the bedroom.

Yet another servant was awaiting her, and the girl bowed, saying, "My lady, King Priam requests your presence."

Claire nodded, still remaining partially in the bathroom in an attempt to hide her body. "Alright. I just need to get dressed first."

"Shall I assist you?" The girl offered.

Claire was inclined at first to say 'no,' but after looking at the dress laid out on the bed, she realized she would need help. "Yes, please." She hesitantly removed herself from within the bathroom and went to stand near the bed. The servant girl picked up the dress, and Claire released the towel. It took longer than it should have since Claire continually managed to be in the girl's way despite her best efforts not to. The important thing though in Claire's mind was that she was finally clothed, and she went to the mirror to inspect her reflection. It was a beautiful dress. There was no question about it, and Claire felt oddly different wearing it. She took the seat before the table to see her reflection better, and the girl moved behind her to begin fooling with her damp locks. Claire enjoyed watching the girl work though she realized early on that her hair was much shorter than what the servant was used to working with. Claire actually thought it to be long for her as it fell about an inch below her shoulders. It wasn't only the length that was difficult to work with but the layers and bangs as well.

The girl was evidently becoming frustrated and said, "Do all women have hair like yours in your country?" She then blushed and bowed as low as she could, quickly apologizing. "I am sorry, my lady. I did not mean to speak out."

"It's alright," Claire said, smiling because at last one of the servants showed signs of life. "I'll do it myself." She extracted the pins from her hair and proceeded to make a bun which took much less time and effort from both of them. She parted her bangs on the right as always and swept the majority of hair across her forehead while the rest was tucked neatly behind her ear. The only thing Claire needed was make up, and if she had her purse, she could have at least used her eye shadow. 'Oh well,' Claire thought. 'Less is more, right?' "Now, where should I go to meet the king?" She asked the servant.

"I will show you the way, my lady." The girl waited for Claire to stand before leading her out the door and down a maze of corridors until they reached what appeared to be the throne room. Claire realized all too late, however, that it was not only the king present but an entire council. She stood at the end of the long hall opposite the king and the two princes. A man in armor had stood and was speaking, "I would match the best of Troy against the best of Greece any day."

Claire's unannounced presence distracted Priam from the man who had stood to say, "The best of Greece outnumber the best of Toy two to one." Murmurs and applauses began, but simply by lifting his hand, Priam silenced the man and the others present, and all followed Priam's gaze to Claire.

"Come here, child," Priam requested, his voice reverberating across the hall. Claire skirted the rectangular pool of water running down the middle of the hall, trying her best to ignore the intent gazes which followed her every move. It seemed a mile before she reached Priam, and she hesitantly bowed.

"My lord," She said, hoping she sounded plausible, "you asked for me?"

Claire's gaze was still directed to the floor when the edge of Priam's robes entered her line of sight first. She curiously looked up to see Priam had removed himself from his throne and now stood before her. "You are the prophet my son spoke of?" He asked.

Claire swallowed and returned to staring intently at her feet. "Yes, my lord."

"How old are you, child?" The old king inquired.

"Nineteen." She swallowed again, feeling her mouth was dry. "Nineteen years old, my lord."

"The gods choose to speak through the mouth of a babe," Priam commented.

Claire chanced a glance up at the old king. He had a kind face which is likely why Claire said, "Perhaps it's because I have yet to be tainted by the ways of the world."

The king smiled at this and said, "I am curious to hear what the gods have told you."

"They said-"

"Address my council as well," He interrupted.

Claire nodded and turned to see the two rows of men with their eyes fixed on her. Priam returned to his throne, and Claire raised her gaze to the heavens. 'Please help me,' She asked whichever god or goddess would listen. 'Give me strength, courage, the whole package.' At length she found her voice, "A thousand ships under Agamemnon sit on Troy's shore as we speak. The great warrior Achilles and his Myrmidons are among them. It is the largest army known to man," 'currently,' she added to herself. "They have used Helen as an excuse to begin this war, but Agamemnon has come for Troy." She paused and folded her hands in front of her. "Troy's walls have yet to fall, but they will if you aren't careful."

The man who had been speaking when Claire first entered the hall stood to challenge what she said, "Our walls have never been breeched, we have the finest archers in the world, and we have Hector." An array of applause began.

"Hector," Claire said, finding the courage to stare the man in the eyes, "can win this war for you, but be warned, my lord, your pride and your king's pride will kill Hector; and without Hector Troy will fall." The hall grew silent once more, and the man sat down. Hector's eyes bored into her back. "If you plan to be victorious, I suggest you forget your pride for it will doom all of Troy. Don't underestimate Agamemnon's army." Claire's gaze traveled across the men's faces. "If Agamemnon has his way, he will kill every son of Troy, enslave every woman, he will throw the babies from the walls, and he will burn Troy to the ground until there is nothing left."

A man to the left rose. "Apollo watches over Troy," He said rather haughtily to Claire. Then to the entire assembly he began, "I spoke to two farmers today. They saw an eagle flying with a serpent clutched in its talons. This is a sign from Apollo. We will win a great victory tomorrow."

Hector beat Claire to retorting. "Bird signs? You want to plan a strategy based on bird signs?"

"Hector, show respect," Priam scolded his first son. "The High Priest is a servant of the gods."

"And I am a servant of Troy," Hector pointed out, the annoyed edge to his voice softening as he spoke in earnest to his father. "I've always honored the gods, father. You know that, but today I fought a Greek who desecrated the Statue of Apollo. Apollo didn't strike the man down."

"Achilles," Claire interrupted without intentionally meaning to. She had thought aloud apparently. When she realized the attention had turned to her, she continued, "Achilles is the only Greek man arrogant enough to do that." She turned to Hector and asked curiously, "Did you fight him?"

Hector obviously did not understand what her question was leading to, but he answered nonetheless. "No, he wouldn't fight me."

Claire should have known better. If they had fought, Hector wouldn't be sitting there answering her. She warned, "You should be careful around Achilles." She then attempted to place the conversation back on the track from where she had interrupted it. "And Prince Hector is right. The gods won't fight this war for you, but they-"

Paris cut in then. "There won't be a war," He said as he stood and made his way down the steps leading to the thrones and beside Claire. "This is not a conflict of nations. This is a dispute between two men, and I don't want to see another Trojan die because of me."

"Paris!" Priam said loudly, looking astonished at his youngest son's words.

Paris turned to face his father, trying his best to appear confident and strong. "Tomorrow I will challenge Menelaus for the right to Helen. The winner will take her home. The loser will burn before nightfall." The young man hesitated, turning his gaze from his father's shocked face to his older brother's. He barely nodded his head before departing from the hall and leaving stunned silence in his wake.

The council was dismissed shortly after. Many of the council members if not all seemed rather irritated with Claire when the meeting was over because the majority of them had risen to voice their suggestions, and Claire managed to seat them again with a comment or two. Claire lingered after the end of the council for she didn't know how to return to her quarters. She noticed Hector coming toward her.

"Did the gods tell you Paris would fight Menelaus?" He asked once he reached her. She nodded, trying not to be moved by the deep concern in Hector's eyes. It seemed as though he didn't want to ask what he did next but that he could not retain it, "Will my brother die?"

Claire lowered her gaze. "You love Paris very much." She returned her eyes to his face. "No, he won't die. You," She paused and decided then that perhaps it wasn't best to tell Hector he would save Paris. "You'll understand when the time comes." Hector's face instantly relaxed as it seemed relief washed over him. "But," She began. His body immediately tensed up again. She assumed he was fearful that she would tell him Paris was going to die during the war eventually. "You should go speak with him." He relaxed again. "He's very afraid and rightly so." Hector nodded and appeared as though he were going to do as Claire suggested. "But first, do you think you could show me where my room is?" She smiled sheepishly at him.

For the first time since Claire had arrived Hector smiled if only slightly. "Come," He replied. "I'll take you there." The journey to her room was without conversation, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence that fell between them. Hector was deep thought, undoubtedly musing over what he would say to Paris and the day ahead, and Claire herself was trying to remember what happened during the next day. "Here," He interrupted her thoughts and reached across her to open the door to her quarters.

Claire stepped beneath the doorway and said, "Thank you." Hector nodded and went on his way, likely to find Paris. Claire watched him disappear around the corner before she closed the door and turned, slowly making her way toward the table. Her head was bowed as her hands reached up to begin taking out the pins in her hair. She ceased walking though as she found it easiest to unpin her hair when she stood still and concentrated on her fingers feeling out the edges of hair pins. It took her a few moments to finish, and she ran her fingers through her hair to fix it as she raised her head.

"Quiet," The woman, sitting in the chair before the dressing table, said sharply before Claire could even take the breath necessary for her scream.

Claire's hands had unintentionally covered her heart as they always did when something surprised her or scared her. "Who are you?" She asked as she took in the woman's appearance. Her eyes caught Claire's attention first. They were a scintillating blue green and surrounded by thick ebony lashes. Her hair cascaded in dark brown curls to the middle of her back though most of it was pinned back by two large gold clips. Her skin was ivory and flawless. She was absolutely breath-taking even when her gorgeous eyes looked upon Claire with utter disdain.

"Athena," She answered, allowing her name to linger and causing Claire to feel the powerful force behind it. "And you," She began as she turned to face Claire, "are the girl sent to save Troy." Her eyes considered Claire all the way from her toes to her head. A malicious smile distorted the goddess' beautiful countenance. "Do you truly believe you have the power to alter history?"

Claire remembered then quite suddenly the myth detailing the beauty contest between Athena, Aphrodite, and another goddess. The goddess' told Paris to choose the victor, and each bribed the prince in an attempt to win his approval and vote. Aphrodite promised Paris the most beautiful woman in the world, and he chose her as the winner. Thus, he won Aphrodite's favor and Helen, but the other two goddesses cursed him and Troy. "Speak," The goddess commanded, turning to admire her reflection in the mirror.

"Yes, I do," Claire replied without hesitation.

"You are very foolish then." Athena reached a hand up to finger her curls. "You will not succeed, child." A secret smile played upon her lips. "My Odysseus will not allow it."

Claire frowned. "You're just mad because Paris didn't pick you."

Athena glared at Claire but scoffed next. "It is no matter anymore. Helen returns to the Greeks as we speak."

"No," Claire said, shaking her head. "No, she doesn't go back to them."

"You are more foolish than I thought to argue with the Goddess of wisdom, but you have served your purposes." The last part was added to prick Claire's interest.

Claire bit. "What do you mean?"

The goddess chuckled meanly. "If you had not sent Hector to Paris, he would have first gone to see his wife. Then, child, he would have gone to Paris and saw Helen fleeing. He would convince her to remain with Paris." Her words stunned Claire, and she pressed on for spite, "But you convinced Hector to visit Paris first before attending to his wife, and there was none to stop Helen from departing."

Athena disappeared, leaving Claire alone to drown in her thoughts. Claire certainly did alter history, but not in the way she intended to. With Helen returned to Menelaus, what would happen? The war would undoubtedly continue, but how could Claire continue donning her guise as a prophet? Wasn't it possible that this would affect the course of the entire war? How could she anticipate the future if she altered it? Would Troy fall despite her efforts?

* * *

In case you wanted to see my characters as I see them and my writing isn't quite enough, then allow me to help you: 

I imagine Apollo to resemble Boyd Holbrook (except more golden blonde and curly hair).  
Hector - Eric Bana  
Paris - Orlando Bloom  
Priam - Peter O'Toole  
Glaucus (man in the council who first stood up) - James Cosmo  
Athena - Eva Green

I encourage you to review, but I would like to remind you to be respectful first and foremost. Please refrain from using vulgar words in your review as it is completely unprofessional and has no place here. I will delete your review if you choose to ignore this.

I would like to remind you as well to perhaps look over my first authorial note prior to reviewing. Thank you. :)


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